


The Definition of a Chicken

by grimcognito



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, Gen, Humor, Junkrat Tries So Hard, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimcognito/pseuds/grimcognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat is finally given a chance to prove himself on the dinner rotation and is determined to show the team his cooking skills. It goes about as well as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Definition of a Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't like the idea of Junkrat hunting down and catching some poor unfortunate birds for his meals, please turn back now. 
> 
> The Junkrat/Roadhog is mostly implied. I wanted to tag it just to be safe.

With sixteen people on a base that is, by all means, supposed to be defunct, meal service isn’t an option. Most days, everyone was left on their own to buy meals or make them in the main kitchen, but once a week, a team member on rotation made a large meal for everyone to share. While not technically mandatory, 76 made it clear that calling it optional was his way of making it an order. Team bonding wasn’t something that most of the members had much enthusiasm for, and if a shared meal was as close as it got sometimes, 76 would take it. 

Three months after being cleared to join in on missions, Junkrat had finally gotten 76 to let him onto the dinner rotation. He knew no one trusted him to make a proper meal and was determined to prove them all wrong. They’d all be expecting some slop warmed up from a can or something unidentifiable and on fire. Well, he thought to himself, he’d show them! 

As the team wandered in and out, slowly gathering together in the mess hall slash dining room, Junkrat mumbled to himself in the kitchen, spreading out lettuce leaves on dinner plates and, once satisfied with that, turned to inspect his roast chickens. Golden brown and smelling delicious, he grinned and plated them with pride, leaving one plate empty for Roadhog, who would be eating the pot of vegetarian stew Junkrat made especially for his partner. Extra roasted birds were stacked on a large platter.

With only the wings left in the oven, almost ready for the hot sauce glaze Hana had requested, Junkrat kicked open the door to the dining room with a gleeful cackle. 

“Time t’prove every one of ya wrong! I can cook with th’ best of ‘em!” 

With that claim, and despite the doubtful faces around the table, Junkrat began dropping plates in front of each person, with a touch more force than needed, hobbling quickly back and forth from the kitchen. After hauling out the pot of stew for Roadhog--which earned him a contented grunt and pat on the head, making Junkrat smile wider than ever--he dropped the final plate in front of Reinhardt. It was the largest of the birds so far, and Reinhardt laughed. “You know me too well, my crispy little friend!” 

Junkrat look around the table, back straight for once and hands braced on his hips, looking so proud of himself no one had the heart to tell him the birds were a bit burnt around the edges, a couple looking a little mangled where he’d cut off the wings. There were murmurs as each brave soul began eating, surprised that it actually tasted pretty good. Hanzo frowned down at his and took the smallest possible slice. McCree nudged the man and chuckled at his expression before taking his own large bite and tipping his hat toward Junkrat with a grin. 

“Not half bad. A little… fishy tastin’ but hey, that could be some sorta spice you used.” 

Zarya was already halfway through hers, clearly too hungry from her workout to care what anything tasted like at the moment. Next to her, Lucio ate at a more reasonable pace, chewing slowly as he stared at the bird. “Hm. You’re right, Jesse. I wonder if they feed the chickens here something different.”

Hana had passed on her plate, choosing instead to wait for her promised hot wings and busy typing on her cell phone until they were ready. Angela smiled politely at Junkrat when he looked at her, nodding in approval, then swallowing with a bit of difficulty once he looked past her. 

Winston and Mei had both passed on the offer of dinner; Winston choosing to stay in his lab with the excuse of his own diet and Mei with plenty of work to do. Genji had only tea in front of him, not actually needing to eat, but enjoying the time together with the team. He glanced at the dishes and made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat, as if trying to solve a puzzle. 76 was eating methodically, face grim, but that was nothing new. Fareeha ate quietly, distracted with her own thoughts and absently dipping pieces into a small bowl of sauce beside her plate. Junkrat shrugged to himself, she wasn’t avoiding it, and that was good enough for him. 

Lena was eating slowly, looking puzzled as she stared at the meal, but smiled wide when she noticed Junkrat looking at her. “Not quite what I’m used to, but not half bad!”

Torbjörn was already picking the bones clean and reaching for another. Roadhog had his mask tilted up far enough to reveal his mouth and was eating steadily. Reinhardt seemed to be heartily enjoying his own as well. 

Junkrat stabbed his own meal with his fork and set to eating when the oven buzzer rang. 

“Hot wings!” He and Hana shouted in unison, her attention caught as he scrambled into the kitchen to take them from the oven and toss them in the sauce. 

While he was occupied, Lena leaned over toward Fareeha. “Does this chicken taste odd to you?”

Fareeha paused, glancing between Lena and her own plate. “This is chicken?” 

“Some sort of cornish game hen, maybe?” Angela offered, though she seemed dubious about it as well. 

Lena poked at hers. “Seems a bit gangly for cornish hen.”

“When the hell did he buy this much chicken?” 76 grumbled to himself. 

Next to him Genji shrugged. “He was gone most of the day, I guess he was shopping.” 

Hanzo ate another very small slice, looking pained. McCree was watching him, mouth full to help hold back his laughter. Hanzo caught him looking and glared, but Junkrat was bursting back through the door with his usual gusto, hands full with a large bowl of wings coated in a red-orange sauce. He set it down with a hand motion that might have been an attempt at a flourish. 

Hana was quick to reach over and snatch up two, each the size of her forearm even while folded. Lucio dropped his knife and stared as she tore into them enthusiastically. The others in the bowl weren’t quite as large, but definitely, undisputably, and very, very obviously not from any sort of chicken.

There was a pause around the table. Well, most of the table. Zarya and Torbjörn had moved onto their second serving each, unconcerned with the conversation, and Roadhog simply continued eating his stew in apparent contentment. 76 slowly set down his fork. McCree squinted at the bowl, then at Junkrat. “Jamison, where’n the hell’d you buy these chickens?”

Junkrat looked confused. “Buy? An’ waste money on some birds? I caught ‘em!”

“Where, _exactly,_ did you catch them?” 76 asked carefully.

“On th’ roof.” Junkrat replied, face scrunched up and one finger pointed upward as if the answer was obvious. 

76 stared right back at him. “The roof.”

“Yeah!” 

Genji folded his hands in front of him, the lights dotting his body brighter than normal. “And what color were they?” 

Those that still had food in their mouth looked like they were seriously contemplating spitting it out. Zarya, halfway through her third portion, had finally noticed the tension and was listening. Hanzo had gone grey in the face. Angela took a very large swallow of her wine. Hana reached for more wings.

Junkrat’s eyes darted back and forth from person to person, brows furrowed. “White an’ grey, I guess. Ain’t that normal chicken colors?” 

“Ah, my friend,” Genji said, hands still folded and his posture the picture of serenity, but his biolights were lit up like a beacon, giving away his amusement. “Those would be seagulls. Not chickens.”

Junkrat paused, still looking confused, frowned thoughtfully at the roasted birds in various stages of destruction, then back at Genji. “Looks like chickens t’me, mate.” 

Hanzo, paler than normal and looking a little wild around the eyes spoke softly through clenched teeth. _“That is a very loose definition of a chicken.”_

“S’got feathers, it flies, it squawks, an’ I can roast it. That’s a chicken.” Junkrat counted the points on his fingers as if explaining the obvious to a child. 

Angela emptied her glass with one last swig, then poured herself another despite rarely indulging in more than one. “And what sort of… chicken, did you catch for Reinhardt?” She asked.

That earned a wide flailing gesture from Junkrat, who was more than happy to jump into the topic. “A right feisty little shit! Put up a real fight, that one did! Big ugly bugger, with a big ol’ beak it was usin’ ta scoop up fish right outta th’ water.” 

He mimed tossing a net and hauling it in. “Got the bastard in th’ end though! Even had a couple fish hangin’ about in ‘is mouth still. You can have ‘em if you want.”

Lucio looked betrayed, mouth open as he stared across at Reinhardt’s plate in horror. “He murdered a pelican.” 

76 stood suddenly. “That’s it. I’m done.” With that, he turned and left the room. Most of the others were quick to follow with expressions and excuses ranging from apologetic to starkly relieved. 

Junkrat slumped down into his own chair and poked at his meal. “I thought fer sure this was a winner.” 

A huge hand patted his head in consolation and Junkrat fell against Roadhog’s side as he shoved a forkful of meat into his mouth. Across the table, Torbjörn stabbed another bird and dragged it to his plate. “Eh, don’t worry about it. ‘Least they ate it. I’ve been banned from cooking since ‘37. Too much grease, they said. Giblets shouldn’t be fried, they said. Bah. Who needs vegetables anyhow?” 

Junkrat perked up at the comment. “Yer right! I forget these prissy folk like all that green nonsense. Little trees an’ twigs on their plates.” He wiggled his fingers over the plate, then paused. “Oi! No one even ate th’ lettuce!”

After a short rant on the disrespect of ignoring the leafy greens he worked so hard to remember adding, he glanced up at where Hana was still powering her way through the bowl of wings without a care. “Surprised yer still here.” 

She shrugged, glancing up from her phone, which lit up with soft pings now and then while she ate. “I’ve eaten far weirder things for dares and viewer hits. At least you make a decent hot sauce.” 

“Good t’know a few people here have some taste.” Junkrat declared, toasting Hana and Torbjörn with his fork, them responding in kind. Roadhog snorted at their antics, settling his mask back into place and pulling out the book he kept tucked into his pocket as Junkrat tore into his food with renewed eagerness, messy as always. 

Next time, Junkrat thought to himself, he’d try seafood. Can’t go wrong with fish.


End file.
